Stupid Cupid

Frustrated with my sister's boyfriend and puppy visiting our home, my father thanked me for being the 'sensible one'.  "No boys, no dogs."  "Yeah, Dad.  Just cats and my parents for the rest of my life."  Thus, in order to avoid my inevitable fate, the last year I've turned to online dating. Before you scrunch your face up in disgust at the thought of online dating, remember that I live in the most heavily populated city in the country and in New York it is a totally common practice.  For those who are socially awkward and have little free time, it is a wonderful  way to trick people into hanging out with us. At least that's what I thought before I underwent the whole process.  Now, after 7 months on and off OkCupid I've realized that there are reasons a lot of these guys are resorting to online dating.  Short answer: they fucking suck.  Let me quickly walk you through some of the douche-baggery I've encountered.

The Leprechaun

Now, I'm not typically one to go for redheads, but when they're handsome anesthesiologists at major Manhattan hospitals, I'm perfectly willing to give them a second look.  We had been talking for a couple weeks when Doc announced that he had just been named chief resident and wanted to celebrate.  This was the first online interest I had agreed to meet and I was shitting bricks.  Friends were given the appropriate information in case I wound up a missing person, and despite the load in my pants, I went downtown to meet this charmer.  As someone who struggles with punctuality, I arrived at the bar with five minutes to spare.  Unsure of where to wait I popped my head into the bar to check out the scene; it was definitely a cool bar so I had a good feeling.  That feeling slipped away with the passing minutes with no show and I began feverishly texting my friends asking if I had been stood up.  After about fifteen or twenty minutes I finally messaged Doc to see how far he was and told him I was waiting on the sidewalk.  To my surprise someone poked his head out the door and shouted my name.  I turned to address the caller and realized that the tiny orange head not only belonged to my doctor, but a was full SIX inches shorter than promised.  Disgust does not even begin to describe what I felt at that moment-- anger that this prick had the audacity to lie about his height like that and utter self-loathing that I had let myself be deceived.  There I was, shoulder to face with my date, smiling through hellos and being led to a booth that I'm pretty sure was equipped with a booster seat.  Yet even though I was furious, I remembered the redeeming qualities that had led me there in the first place and went through with the date.  After two hours of hearing about how much of a family man he was, how much charity work he does, and how important it is for me to read I was fed up.  I told him I needed to go, but he insisted on having a celebratory glass of bourbon.  I declined ordering the same and waited for the check.  In an attempt to not be a jerk I offered to split the bill with him, terms to which he too quickly agreed.  Would you like to venture a guess as to what a ten year old glass of Midleton comes to?  $80. EIGHTY FUCKING DOLLARS A GLASS.  I took one look at the bill, told him I wasn't going to pay for the drink he didn't even offer me a sip of, and turned down the prospect of a second date.  

He proceeded to text me every other weekend for three months.  

Thought you found a winner did you?

Kankles

As you would expect, after the midget incident I was scared away from online dating for a while.   I worked up courage once again when I met a nice engineer with an even nicer smile who asked me to dinner.  Dinner, I later learned among hundreds of other online dating tips from this man, was typically a bad choice since there's no escape route.  However, he felt something "special" about me and wanted to take a risk.  I joked that I hoped he wasn't looking for his wife, and he responded with "Well actually I am.  And I'm not going to lie to you, Stephanie.  I could see us spending our lives together."  Fortunately for me the check had already come and been paid for.  Jones out.

And if you're wondering, he did have kankles.  It was a strange phenomenon since his upper body and abdomen were exceptionally fit.  I'm still scratching my head over that one. 

Southern Comfort

Having had "the nice guy" situation blow up in my face, I decided to take things to the sleezy end of the spectrum.  An oil and gas man fit the bill, so I went out with the first one I could get my hands on.  He was southern and charming with a fat wallet and a penchant for being a complete creep.  He was living an hour outside of the city so what little interest I had was extinguished when I discovered that news. Things, of course, didn't work out so when I ran into him at a bar several weeks after the date I expected an awkward conversation.  With apparently all the tact he could muster, he told me that his company will pay for his hotel when he wanted to stay in town and asked me if I wanted him to get a room for the next night.  I refused his slimy offer. All night, again and again I refused until finally, in drunk-bitch fashion, I sarcastically told him to go ahead and book a room.  The derision must have gone over his head because the next night, as I was watching my godchildren, I got a message asking what time I would be over.  That evening I received no answer to my "fuck off" message, but the next morning opened my phone to a text demanding half the cost of the hotel room.  I never responded, but later got a sad-faced snapchat, so clearly we're soul mates.

The absolute worst most horrible douche on the planet

I tend to think of myself as a fairly interesting person.  Sure I ramble, but there's definitely some nuggets of comic gold in my endless rants.  Not to mention I'm great on paper...you know... when I can edit out the sociopathic and neurotic tendencies.  Yet, I found myself sitting across from the most boring person that has ever walked this planet. Stupidly, I made the mistake of thinking a midwest boy was a safe bet, but it turns out the only topic he could think to discuss was how shitty I would feel if Michigan beat Ohio State in football.  Spoiler alert: Ohio State won.  The rest of our conversation, if it can be called that, was me asking questions, getting a one word response, asking a followup question, and then being accused of interrogating him.  Now if you're wondering why I didn't just ditch him, it's because I'm not a horrible person.  Plus there was no back door and he would have seen me try to run.  So instead, I bundled up all the crazy, and I mean crazy that I could muster and just let it rip on him. I talked about my recently deceased cat, I talked about going to German strip clubs, I reached a point where I wasn't even telling the truth anymore, trying to be as batshit as possible so I could scare him off. I told him my grandparents couldn't afford tooth brushes so neither of my parents have real teeth, and since they want me to have everything they couldn't, they put special care into making my smile perfect. He told me I looked athletic so I told him that I had never played a sport in my life, but that I was on the chess team in high school. I also led him to believe I have a collection of colored shoe laces that takes up 50% of my closet.  The worst of the worst word vomit I spewed I'm not willing to share, but if you know me you can probably imagine the places this discussion went. 

Unfortunately, my plan didn't really work.  Multiple times I expressed to this dimwit that I had to get back to school and we needed to wrap things up, but instead of asking for the check he ordered more food and more sake.  I'm no stranger to intentions here, especially when he made abundantly clear by inviting me to his apartment for whiskey cider and The Walking Dead.  Finally, after what seemed like hours, he insisted on escorting me to my subway stop.  I should mention that this guy was about 6'6, 220lbs so when he pinned me against a railing and tried to rape me with his face me all I could really do short of screaming, was squeeze my mouth shut and squirm until he let me go.  Romantic right?

On my subway ride home I got a text telling me I was a bad kisser.  Thanks, dickhead.  

The most horrifying part of all of this is that he continued to message me every day for WEEKS.  He must have finally got the hint when he asked me if I was still interested in him.  "Definitely not." "Well life lesson here, sweetheart: don't kiss boys you don't like."  Oh is that what I was doing?  Ok.  

Hey let's hang out again!

Now, I realize I am not always an easy person to get along with; I'm caustic, often on the brink of an emotional meltdown, and blessed with my father's temper, making me a real treat for anyone that gets on my bad side, but I think I deserve a little better than these shits. Though, for as much as these guys blow, I guess I'm glad they're being themselves.  So kudos, weirdos.